The news came as something of a shock to the 10-year-old who lives inside my heart because I always felt like the people who shaped my childhood were immortal. Prior to John, the most devastating blow my younger self endured was Madelina Kahn’s passing in 1999. The joy that her “flames, flames, on the side of my face” and “Blazing Saddles” songs brought to my life are unmatched by any actor today.

The same goes for John. This is the man whose words defined a couple of generations. One quick look at his resume proves how influential he was to anyone who is currently in their 20s, 30s or 40s. “Breakfast Club,” “Sixteen Candles,” “Weird Science,” “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” “National Lampoon’s Vacation,” “Pretty in Pink,” “Home Alone” and “The Great Outdoors” are some of my personal favorites.

But the amazing thing about John’s movies is that they were filled with so many wonderfully diverse characters, you could always identify with one. If you weren’t Ferris, you were probably Cameron. If you weren’t Samantha Baker, you were probably Ginny. If you weren’t a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess or a criminal, you probably have a toilet seat cover hanging out of your pants.

He spoke to, and for, the people who saw every movie, but were rarely the main characters in them. Who cared about two social inept dorks before they strapped bras on their heads and created Lisa? John did. He made the outcasts feel as included as the homecoming queen, and quite often gave her majesty a handful of reasons to regret stepping on the loyal subjects who put her there.

I know it sounds trite to say, but Hollywood simply doesn’t make movies like John Hughes’ any more. And sadly, now they never will.